


The Truth is in the Thunderstorms

by SinfullyPresent



Category: One Direction
Genre: Cuddles, Fluffiness, M/M, The X Factor Era, Thunderstorms, also current, awe, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, louisandharry, teensy weensy bit of drama, xfactor harry, xfactor louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:41:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinfullyPresent/pseuds/SinfullyPresent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It was a bloody joke, really, that it would storm on the night that Louis chose to sleep on his own. Harry hadn’t gone through a storm without Louis since the X-Factor, always seeming to avoid the storms when the two of them weren’t together, and he had gotten used to curling into Louis’ arms, letting himself fall asleep while wrapped in the warmth, and safety, that is his boyfriend.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or, the AU in which Louis is scared shitless of thunderstorms, but doesn't tell Harry until five and a half years after the X Factor. (Cue fluffy cuddle scenes and a little bit of fetus.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth is in the Thunderstorms

Harry hated storms. Absolutely _hated_ them. They were loud and dark and had always shaken the window panes of Harry’s little Cheshire home. His mum had spent years trying to console Harry, telling him over and over again that it was nothing but the sky laughing. Harry had always insisted that if storms were happiness, he never wanted to see the sky angry. Of course, nowadays, his general fear of storms had nothing to do with whether or not the sky was angry or happy. Now, it was just an irrational fear that never failed to leave Harry cowering in his bed, desperate to get a bit of sleep. When he was younger, he could crawl in with his mum, or even Gemma (under certain kinds of circumstances). But now, curled tightly under his comforter in the X-Factor house, clad in his warmest pair of trackies and his favourite Jack Wills hoodie, Harry was left to the storm, lighting flashing across the sky every so often, the thunder always rolling in only moments later.

Things were going good for Harry, right now. He and the lads were getting much farther than expected in the competition, and everyone was getting along smashingly. Harry liked them all, really, and wouldn’t mind making music with them for the rest of his life. Especially Louis. They got along the best, Louis seeming to have no problems with Harry’s clingy, touchy nature. They had become attached at the hip nearly instantly, always touching in some way shape or form. Harry liked that. He liked the warmth that came with Louis’ perpetually sun kissed skin, the sparkle that came with his infinitely cerulean eyes, the bounce that came with the laugh that Harry worked hard to bring about as often as possible, the softness of Louis’ fringe and the white of his smile and the length of his eyelashes. Yeah, Harry really quite liked Louis.

It was undeterminable, really, what got Harry up and moving with the next bolt of lightning, but years later Harry would admit that it was probably the combination of the storm and his thoughts of Louis that really did it. He’d been laying in bed, eyes pressing shut, focusing desperately on anything but the storm (and, therefore, focusing on _Louis_ , though he was really, really trying to keep those thoughts away) when lightning flashed across the sky, and with the clap of thunder that followed Harry found himself on his feet, scrambling to keep upright while simultaneously kicking his blanket from his ankles, nearly on all fours as he skidded from his room.

Louis was across the way from Harry, and one door down, and Harry fumbled his way there blindly. (The hallway was, mercilessly, lacking in windows, and therefore hiding away all evidence of the lightning flashing outside. But, since it was after lights out, the usually fluorescent lighting wasn’t on, making Harry rather grateful that he knew his way to Louis’ room as if it were his own.) Louis had his door unlocked, as per usual, (a habit that Harry ridiculed often, insisting that it weren’t safe to do. Not that Louis bothered listening.) and Harry pushed himself into the room quickly, stumbling just barely over his own clumsy feet.

It wasn’t until he was _inside_  the room, that Harry realized how absurd he must look. The room was dark, save for the small blip of light that came from Louis’ phone (no, Harry didn’t feel the tiniest bit jealous that Louis were up texting someone in the dead of night. Not at all, thanks). The light was quickly averted to Harry as Louis sat up with a startled sounding gasp. The brightness fell over Harry dimly, just barely illuminating his clothing, his rumpled curls, and big, (likely scared) green eyes.

“Haz?” Louis croaked out, showing evidence of his sleepiness, and Harry was suddenly completely unsure of what he were supposed to say.

“I- ehrm-“ Harry gaped for a moment, simultaneously unwilling to admit his fear of storms (stupid, stupid bloody fear, anyways), and unwilling to return to his own bed. The sound of rain pattering against the glass panes muted Harry’s blubbers, and only when the next set of thunder and lightening echoed around Louis’ room did Harry let out the word “storm” in the form of a squeak.

The word was practically indecipherable, and yet Louis seemed to understand, his head nodding as he moved over on his twin bed, flipping the covers open and patting the bed for Harry, “Come on, then. I’ll protect you, Styles.”

Harry wasted no time, instantly padding over to the bed and falling into the mattress, pulling the blankets up and curling his toes into Louis’ legs for warmth. They were facing each other, the twin bed making space extremely limited. They were nearly touching in all junctions, their foreheads bowed towards each other, noses a hairsbreadth away from brushing, chests nearly flush. Louis’ eyes were sparkling, the ever present mischievous gleaming in his eyes, laughter dancing behind it. But not at Harry, never at Harry. Louis didn’t laugh at Harry unless Harry wanted to be laughed at.

“You don’t like storms?” Louis whispered, and it was a miracle that Harry even heard the words over the raging storm. He likely wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been listening for them.

Harry gave a little shrug, frowning just barely, “Never have. I know it’s stupid, but.” Another shrug.

Louis shook his head, moving closer so that their legs could tangle together, heat running up Harry’s legs at the feeling. Louis was wearing trackies, as well, and still Harry could feel the warmth radiating off of him, heating Harry to the core. “’S not stupid,” he spoke, voice just as quiet as his first words, and Harry found himself relishing that, relishing the fact that they were for him. Louis had a way of doing that, of talking as if all of his words and attention were for no one but Harry, no matter who was, or wasn’t, in the room with them.

Harry loved that.

A lot.

Louis’ phone vibrated against the bed, the name “Hannah-Bear” popping up on his screen, and Harry worked to ignore the sinking in his stomach as Louis picked up the device. It was easier, though, once Louis locked the phone without bothering to respond to her text.

Ha.

“It’s pretty stupid,” Harry went on, ignoring the interruption. His voice was low, trying to match Louis’ voice’s volume as he spoke, “There’s nothing to be afraid of. It makes it even stupider that I _know_ that, and I’m still afraid of them.”

Harry could make out Louis’ frown with the next bolt of lightening, and Harry hugged himself closer to Louis, fear stiffening his shoulders. He were relaxing quickly, though, Louis’ heat unknotting his muscles, and letting him sink back into the pillows.

There was a pinch at his hip, then, drawing a yelp from Harry as he looked at Louis, eyes wide, “What was _that_ for?” The words came out as a whine, and Louis gave another pinch before letting his palm settle on Harry’s waist, not moving it.

Suddenly, all of Harry’s nerve endings were located just below Louis’ palm, sending sparks dancing up his side.

“ _That_ was for calling yourself stupid. And whining. You’re much better than you’re giving yourself credit for, Harry, stop being so damn self deprecating,” Louis spoke, a serious look in his eyes, and Harry felt heat flare in his stomach, a small smile lifting the tips of his lips.

“You think so?” he murmured into the air, the air silent despite the sheets of rain smacking upon Louis’ window.

“‘Course I do, Curly. Would I ever lie to you?” Louis spoke, his own small smile matching Harry’s.

Harry was about to answer when a particularly loud clap of thunder hit Harry’s ears, and Harry let out a small squeak, pushing himself into Louis’ arms, closing the already minimal distance between them. His head tucked up underneath the larger boys chin, his arms going to wrap around his torso as Louis’ own arms wrapped around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him tightly in. They’d done this before. Often, actually. The cuddling thing. Harry tucked into Louis’ arms, and Louis wrapped solidly around Harry, acting as Harry’s personal furnace. Or with Harry’s back to Louis’ chest, Louis wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and acting as the big spoon for him. They cuddled a _lot_. And it never failed to make Harry feel like he could jump over the bloody moon.

Harry settled himself down in Louis’ arms, Louis’ fingers buried deep in his curls and massaging Harry’s scalp lightly, his warm breath fanning over the top of Harry’s head. Harry focused on the movements, the spin of Louis’ fingers, the rise and fall of his chest, the small words of nothing that fell from his lips. And when the next clap of thunder came, he simply pushed his face into the boys chest, and let himself be comforted.

It stayed that way for years and years, long after One Direction graduated on from X-Factor to stadium tours. Long after the first time Louis kissed Harry backstage of X-Factor, just before a show. Long after Louis and Harry went on their first date to one of Louis’ favorite restaurants, the meal peppered with giggles and blushes and warmth. Long after Harry and Louis were told that it was “ _highly recommended_ ” that they keep their relationship “ _under wraps_.” Long after Eleanor was hired to help their closeting agreement. Long after Louis learned how to make Harry fall apart with only his fingers, and long after Harry found out how to make Louis come with nothing but his tongue. Long after their first fight and long after their first house and long after their first secret vacation, and long after Harry became too large to logically play the part of the little spoon, and long after they exchanged their first “I love you”’s in the dark of the night, Louis would continue to hold a stiff Harry during storms, rubbing away the knots in his back and murmuring words of warmth to coax him to sleep.

And it wasn’t until long, long after that first storm, that their rolls were switched.

-

It was incredible how loud Louis’ voice could get, considering how damn tiny he was. That part never failed to amaze Harry. Because despite Louis’ distinct efforts to look macho (the whole dangerous, rugged look that Harry absolutely fucking loved) he was so, so tiny, with dainty wrists and dainty ankles and sharp cheekbones and his tiny, adorably tummy. And yet, his voice could reach levels that, if they hadn’t been together for five and a half years, Harry would never have placed with someone Louis’ size.

Harry figured he should, like, focus on Louis, probably. But it was nothing he hadn’t heard before, and he really would just like to fast forward to the makeup sex bit. But Louis was still screaming and his hands were flying and… _focus, Harold_.

“- I just don’t fucking _get_ it, Harry! I don’t get why you keep playing the bloody victim in this whole fucking situation! I’m trying so hard to make this better for us, and you’re just going right fucking along with what Modest! wants! Do you not want things better for us?!” he paused, chest heaving, eyes on fire, and Harry held his stare evenly, jaw clenched.

“Stop, Louis. You know I want to be out just as much as you do. You can’t honestly think that every girl I’m seen with is something I set up with Modest!,” Harry spoke, keeping his voice even and calm. One of them had to keep their head.

The fight seemed to go out of Louis, suddenly, and Harry could see his jaw clench, could see his fists unfurl. “Fine, fuck, whatever,” he bit out, eyebrows furrowed, “I’m interpreting everything wrong. You’re an angel and I’m totally in the wrong. _Sorry_.” The word was heavy with sarcasm, and Harry felt himself involuntarily wince at the slap that seemed to accompany the word.

And no, no that was _wrong_ , fuck, that was so, so wrong, Louis wasn’t supposed to do _that_. Harry frowned, reaching out for the smaller man, desperate the close the space between them, “No, hey, Lou, c’mon, you _know_ that’s not what I meant. I just- I mean-”

Louis yanked his arm back from Harry’s fingers, eyes stony, “No, really Harold, it’s _fine_. I’ll be fucking fine. It’s late, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” Louis pushed past Harry with those words, leaving Harry stuck with his fingers grasping at empty air, his blood pumping furiously to his head.

They didn’t do that, they didn’t sleep without each other when they could sleep together. Never. They’d done it _once_ , when Harry had been so upset that he’d said he would sleep on the couch. Louis, being the chivalrous twat he is, argued, and Harry had ended up curled up in their bed, the extra room on the mattress seeming to mock him as he spent the rest of the night trying to sleep. Sleep never came, and when morning did Harry was instantly downstairs and in Louis’ arms, apologizing too many times to count and clutching onto him. After that, the two of them had promised that they would always resolve their issues before they went to bed for the night, so that they’d never do anything like that again.

So the fact that Louis was breaking that promise…. fucking hell. Harry spun on his heel, following frantically as Louis walked to the bedroom to retrieve a blanket and pillow for himself. The rain that pattered the window seemed to pick up as Harry followed Louis into the bedroom, his words laden with desperation as he spoke. “Babe, please. Don’t do that. Just- _talk_ to me ab-”

Harry cut off as Louis spun around, storm raging in the mans blue eyes that reminded Harry much of the weather collecting outside their windows. The man’s voice was bitter, humorless as he snapped, “ _Talk_ to you about it?! What, so you can zone out and then call me _wrong_? _Again_?” A bitter laugh that didn’t fit Louis left his mouth before he continued, “No. I’d rather sleep downstairs tonight, thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep fucking wonderfully, Harold.” And, god, Harry knew it was better to just let Louis ride out his anger, to let him storm off and cool down out before approaching him, but it didn't make watching Louis storm down the stairs any easier, and it certainly didn’t rid Harry of the pit in his stomach.

He stayed in the same place for what felt like ages, staring out the bedroom doorway as if Louis were going to appear any moment and kiss Harry and pull him into bed. But, Louis didn’t, and eventually Harry felt weariness settle into his bones. It was late- going on one am- and Harry should lay down now if he wanted to even pretend that he were going to get some form of sleep that night.

So Harry got himself ready to go to bed for the night, brushing his teeth and slipping on a pair of trackies (he would usually sleep in only his boxers, if that, but the rain was really starting to pick up outside and he didn’t want to be freezing all night, especially without Louis’ warmth beside him) before shutting off the lights and slipping into the queen bed, (Louis had toggled between a King and a Queen’s sized bed, and Harry had insisted that Queen was a better size. Just because they had the money money for a King- or ten- didn’t mean they had to make that obvious in every aspect of their lives. Especially if they weren’t going to use the full King’s size. Because, really, they were often so tightly wound around each other that even a Queen size would have a bit of extra room.) grabbing his phone and burying himself deep into the covers.

It was two hours later, Harry having half given up on the illusion of sleep and scrolling emotionlessly through his timeline on twitter when the first bolt of lightening flashed across the sky, a familiar clap of thunder following it.

Harry felt his body tense up on instinct, his heart speeding up impressively as he half sat up, muscles turning to curl into Louis before he remembered and- Fuck. Harry forced himself back under the blankets, pulling them up to his chin as he begged his heart to stop pumping so quickly. It was a bloody joke, really, that it would storm on the night that Louis chose to sleep on his own. Harry hadn’t gone through a storm without Louis since the X-Factor, always seeming to avoid the storms when the two of them weren’t together, and he had gotten used to curling into Louis’ arms, letting himself fall asleep while wrapped in the warmth, and safety, that was his boyfriend.

Harry considered, briefly, going downstairs, to curl up with Louis, but that struck him as unfair, to take away Louis’ alone time just because of some stupid, irrational fear. Especially if he had to wake Louis up, because of it.

No, he didn’t deserve to bother Louis right then. Leave him be.

That thought in mind, Harry shut off his phone and tucked it under his pillow, curling his lengthy legs halfway to his chest and shutting his eyes, fighting the urge to burrow his head under the blankets and shake with the next clamor of thunder.

He was near that point, though, half an hour in and with no sign of sleep, and that’s likely the reason that, when he heard the footsteps running up the staircase, he just about shot into a sitting position, grabbing his phone as a flashlight to point towards his open doorway.

He found a rumpled looking Louis there, his eyes wide and dressed in his warmest clothing, his brows furrowed harshly and chest heaving, “You didn’t come.”

Harry didn’t have time to think about the next words, because thunder was shaking the frames that Harry had propped up on his bedside table, containing pictures of he and Louis, the boys, (even one with Zayn), and his chest was seizing, begging him to get back to the safety of his covers.

And just like that Harry had a palm on his chest, pushing him back down into the mattress as a warm body bent itself into Harry’s chest, Louis’ familiar smell hitting his nose. “Louis? Wh-“ Harry spoke, arms instinctually going to encircle Louis’ shoulders. His question was cut off, though, with Louis’ words.

“Fucking hate storms. I _hate_ them,” the smaller boy hissed, holding himself closely to Harry’s chest. And… what? That didn’t make sense. _Harry_ hated storms, Louis couldn’t care less about the weather outside. His confusion must’ve been obvious because Louis huffed, fixed Harry with a glare, his words clipped as he said, “They scare me, yeah? And I never had to tell you because you were always with me during storms. I always had you in my arms to calm me down, no matter how unknowingly it was done. But tonight I was-”

Louis cut himself off, this time, the storm making him push closer to Harry as Harry tightened around Louis. And god, he had questions. Because _what_? That didn’t-

But Harry didn’t want to spend time poking at the reason _why_ Louis was in his arms, after storming away only two and a half hours ago in a fit. Instead he just arched his neck, pressed a collage of kisses behind the boys ear. “I’ll protect you, Tomlinson,” Harry whispered into his ear, imitating Louis all those years ago from the X-factor house.

“Original,” Louis said, dryly, but Harry could hear the smile in his voice, so he pressed another hot kiss to his boys skin, sighing softly against the wet spot he left.

They lay like that for long moments, Harry and Louis relaxing into each other as Harry rubbed the tense spots in Louis’ back, whispering words of nothing while Louis pressed soft kisses to the boys chest every so often.

“I love you a lot, you know,” Harry finally whispered into the night, the rain finally falling back into a gentle pattering as the storm eased. He felt Louis nod against his chest, just barely, and Harry sighed again, pressing his lips to Louis’ temple.

“And you know I want out just as badly as you do, right?” he spoke, even softer than his first words.

Another nod.

And then, “I just get so frustrated.” Louis’ words were rough, and Harry let out a hum of acknowledgement, not wanting to interrupt his boy. “Just,” Louis sighed, his finger tracing over the moth on Harry’s abdomen, “I hate how easy it is for the media to target us. To make you look like you rifle through girls when you don’t even _like_ them. You like _me_ and to see you being seen as…”

Harry frowned, likely identical to Louis’, and left a trail of kisses down Louis’ jawline, “I know, love. I do. Just… it’s us against the world, right? Modest! especially. And that’s a lot to take on. We’ll get there, I know we will, we just can’t let what a pap interprets as my next ‘girlfriend’ get in the way of that. I can’t keep doing these fights and arguments. I had faith in you with Eleanor for all of those years, the least I can ask for is a little bit of faith from you now, right?”

Nod. “I love you,” the words came out as small, but laden with meaning, and Harry nodded.

He tilted up Louis’ chin, pressing their lips lightly together, “I know, sweetheart. Now get some sleep, yeah? Early wakeup today, and I don’t think either of us can even try to pretend we’ve gotten any sleep so far.”

Louis made a noise of agreement before burying himself back into Harry’s chest, and Harry tugged the blanket over them, kissing the top of his boys head lightly before saying a small, “I love you.”

Morpheus came easily after that, and Harry fell into his arms dreamlessly, never releasing Louis. And no, that wouldn’t be their last fight. A life that easy is impossible. But never again did either of them use the couch to sleep on alone, and Harry knew that, in the end, things would turn out alright.

As long as Louis was with him, he was invincible.


End file.
